To Pursue a Hunter
by Hildegaarde
Summary: A debutante resolves upon a unique way of discouraging the attentions of the Season's most eligible bachelor: to assiduously pursue him herself...
1. Chapter 1

_Any recognizable characters are solely the property of Miss Heyer's incomparable imagination. It is my hope that their social standing may not be materially damaged by association with my own._

* * *

It would have been hard for a casual observer to imagine a prettier picture than the one presented in Hyde Park, London, on a spring morning. The two young women strolling among the blooms were very different in appearance, one being tall and dark with an air of decision, while her companion was slight and fair and frail, but as both were considered ranked among the Season's beauties, and both were dressed in the latest of fashions, an onlooker would have no cause for complaint.

"Will you promise not to think me very foolish if I ask you a question?"

The words were so unexpected that Eleanor's head lifted. To be sure, Harriet was prone to blurting out her frivolous thoughts without first pausing to consider how they would sound, but she rarely prefaced them with a warning. One of her fine dark brows winged upward. "Well, I should have to hear the question before judging of its sense."

Harriet nibbled at her lower lip for a moment. "How do you discourage a gentleman who won't be discouraged?"

"My dear, you simply tell your father that you are being made uncomfortable, and ask your father to have a word with him," Eleanor said in some amusement. Her own forceful personality made her consider such qualms missish, even if her father had been alive to offer the fraternal protection which the more timid Miss Webster seemed inclined to need.

"But I cannot be sure that Lord Wansbeck is serious in his intentions!" Harriet protested. "He has not said anything openly, only sometimes there is such a look in his eye—and he never allows me to cry off from dancing with him. I should sink through the floor if my father warned him about attentions which he had never desired to bestow!"

"A most praiseworthy sentiment," Eleanor agreed, the merest quiver in her voice.

"You know exactly how to fri—how to make a gentleman understand that you do not desire his attentions," Harriet's pale complexion tinted pink as she hastily amended her words.

"You mean I know how to frighten men away," Miss Thorne said calmly. "That is very true, and I daresay it comes from being accustomed to managing my brother's house. But this is only my first Season, in spite of my age and experience, and you have just as much knowledge of the _ton_ as I."

"You even dare to snub Mr. Moretyne," Harriet pronounced the name with a reverent tone.

"Mr. Moretyne is a provoking, detestable, intolerable man!" Miss Thorne announced stormily, her earlier good humour quite vanished. "The only reason he continues his unwelcome advances is because I refused to be dazzled by his wealth and status and accord him no more attention than any other gentleman! Depend upon it, if I had followed in the footsteps of every other girl in London and fallen at his feet he would not have given me a second glance!"

Harriet regarded her friend with some awe. "But Mr. Moretyne is the most eligible bachelor in all of England! Do you not find his pursuit flattering?"

The hapless daisy between Eleanor's fingers was crumpled suddenly. "My dear Harriet, that is a more foolish question than the other! Have I not insisted from the day of our first encounter that I despise the man? I would give much to be rid of his—" She broke off to pick another daisy, but seemed not to see that the flower was deformed.

Miss Webster, watching anxiously, recognised the expression on her friend's face as the same look that had preceded her appropriation of her brother's curricle-and-four to drive down to Richmond, and waited in some apprehension for what would come next.

It was not long in coming. "There is one sure way to give a gentleman a disgust of one!" Eleanor declared, a dangerous sparkle in her eye.

"Eleanor, you are not surely proposing to begin some scandal?" Harriet said, aghast.

Miss Thorne shook her dark curls emphatically. "Why did I not think of it before? I have only to pretend that I am eager to engage his affections, and he will flee at once!"

"But Eleanor—!" Harriet clapped a hand over her mouth, lest opposition strengthen her friend's resolve.

"I will begin at the ball tonight," Miss Thorne dropped the daisy as she plotted Mr. Moretyne's comeuppance. "I shall dance with him, accept his invitations to drive out, encourage his flirtations, until he is thoroughly convinced that I am on the catch for him!"

* * *

In accordance with her plan, Miss Thorne chose a pale pink gown over a white satin slip which set off her dark hair and eyes, and sat a great deal more still than was her wont as her maid dressed her hair in shining ringlets, in order that no fidgeting would disturb the perfect appearance of her toilette.

Even her brother Harry, not usually observant in the matters of feminine apparel, was moved to exclaim, "By George, Eleanor, you do look smart tonight!"

Miss Thorne adjusted the spangled scarf around her shoulders with a small smile. Tonight Mr. Moretyne would be thrown quite off his balance.

Any brother and sister of good birth, who presented such a handsome appearance as the Thorne siblings, would have made a hit in Society, but with the added inducement of wealth and property it was no wonder that they were welcomed with open arms to the bosom of the _ton_. Within minutes of their arrival at Lady Sefton's ball they were separated and Miss Thorne was besieged by an eager crowd of admirers that almost engulfed her meek little elderly chaperone.

She had just promised the Boulanger to Lord Moleneux and bestowed her hand on Mr. Epworth for the opening set of country dances when her sharp eyes spotted an unmistakable figure across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Granville Moretyne was not above the average height, but the excellence of his figure and the perfection of his dress made him stand out from every other gentleman. Having from a young age taken the great Brummell for his model, he never indulged in the freaks of fancy with which other men frequently adorned themselves, and no one had ever seen his coat crumpled or his hair in disorder.

In spite of his fastidiousness in dress he was well known for a magnificent horseman, with a taste for half-wild, fractious beasts that miraculously became manageable under his expert hand—providing they remained under his hand. It was the expertise of his horsemanship which had caused the friction between him and Miss Thorne, herself an expert in the art, at their first meeting.

Miss Thorne had been mounted on her most recent acquisition, a flighty black hunter with a sensitive mouth, and was cantering through the Park under the escort of her brother, when she narrowly escaped a collision with a wild-eyed gray horse who came suddenly from a side path.

She knew herself to be innocent, and was ready to defend herself and her horse, when he had sunk himself in reproach by coolly looking her over and declaring that she would do very well when she had learned to manage her mounts. "For it is most unusual to meet a lady with so good a seat, and I have no doubt of your skill when you are not overmounted," he had drawled.

Hot words had followed, at least on her side, as the gentleman seemed inclined toward amusement at the situation, and he was only spared a pithy homily by the arrival of Mr. Harry Thorne on the scene. From that day forward Miss Thorne was resolute in her desire to avoid Mr. Moretyne, but much to her disgust he seemed to derive considerable delight from her repulsions.

Her brother persisted in naming Mr Moretyne as the best of good fellows who had condescended to take an interest in a young man enjoying his first trip to London. According to Mr Thorne, the gentleman's theology was good, his manners pleasing, and his opinion worth having, and nothing Eleanor said could turn him from this view.

Now, as she watched out of the corner of one eye Mr Moretyne's unhurried progress across the room, she reflected that he should be taught a salutary lesson. With an effort she arranged her face into a delighted smile.

"Miss Thorne, dare I hope that you will bestow your hand upon me for the first waltz?" Mr. Moretyne bowed with an ironic air, as though anticipating a verbal sparring match.

Miss Thorne inclined her head. "Indeed sir, mine will be the honour."

She had the satisfaction of seeing one of his black eyebrows twitch upward and his eyes widen for a moment before her hand was claimed by Mr. Elliot as the musicians struck up.

She had every intention of being a charming partner to Mr. Elliot, but her attention was distracted by the sight of Mr. Moretyne leading Miss Charing into the next set. Since rumour had it that the lady was betrothed to a notable Pink of the ton Miss Thorne told herself she was not jealous, but on the contrary glad to discover that the provoking Mr. Moretyne was willing to bestow his attentions on more than one lady at a time. It was exactly what she would expect from a spoiled darling of Society.

Consequently she finished the dance in an abstracted frame of mind, which continued until the subject of her thoughts arrived to claim his promised waltz. Miss Thorne had planned to simper and flutter her lashes, but found herself incapable of such foolishness and resorted to a brilliant smile.

Mr. Moretyne proved, in spite of his habitual languid air, to be an excellent waltzer, and while fully alive to his many faults Eleanor found no harm in admitting that she very much enjoyed the sensation of swirling about the ballroom.

Until he spoke, that is. "Allow me to compliment you on your skill. You dance even better than you ride."

She squelched the retort that sprang to her lips. "You are too kind, sir. I have had a great deal more practice on horseback, but I believe that you have a considerable reputation along those lines."

"It is nothing to boast of. I merely acquire animals that no one else is fool enough to buy."

As Harry had informed her that a credible source placed the price Mr. Moretyne had paid for his wild-eyed gray in the vicinity of three hundred guineas, beating numerous offers from other hopeful purchasers, she was inclined to consider this false modesty, and told him so.

"I perceive that, being such a notable horsewoman, you have your own opinions on what is an affordable sum. Tell me, Miss Thorne, did you ever see a horse that you considered it would be a crime not to buy?"

She thought he was laughing at her behind those clear gray eyes, and wondered why the dreamy smile she was at pains to keep fixed on her face was not giving him a disgust of her. "Only my black, but I confess I have a bargain. I gave fifty for him, and would gladly have paid twice that."

"Twice—three times!" Mr. Moretyne agreed. "I would gladly see him in my stables at any time, you know."

Eleanor's eyes twinkled. "But you are ungallant, sir! You consider me a fool!"

"No indeed! Where did you come by such a notion?"

Pleased to have set him off his balance, she gave a tiny toss of her head. "You said only a moment ago that you purchase horses that no one else is fool enough to buy. Either you know yourself ready to part with large sums for indifferent animals—which I cannot believe, if you have the good taste to admire my Spartan—or you think me a fool for owning a horse who tipped his previous owner into a river and ran wild for two days."

"Did he do so?" asked Mr. Moretyne, interested. "Well, I cannot blame you on that account. I once purchased a hunter who had kicked his master backwards into a thorn bush, not once but twice."

"What was the merit that attracted your attention?" Eleanor had to ask.

"Excellent shoulders and paces, and the fact that he never refused a fence. But he had terrible manners, and was by far too strong for any lady to hold." The sentence was accompanied by a provocative smirk, as though he was trying to goad her into retort.

She almost fell into the trap, but remembered in time the discomfort he was to suffer and schooled her features into an expression of admiration. "Oh dear, he does sound dangerous! But I am certain that you did not suffer the least difficulty with him."

"My dear Miss Thorne, that is a shocking fib," he returned, his voice changing in an instant to light teasing. "If you have the least knowledge of horses, you are fully aware that I endured innumerable indignities in his conquest."

Eleanor gave an involuntary chuckle at the thought, Mr. Moretyne's appearance being so perfect as to defy her imagination to picture him in a state of dishevelment.

"I am wounded to think that you find such delight in my abasement," he said with a mock-frown that almost overset her gravity.

"Oh no sir!" she hastened. "I assure you that I feel every sympathy with you, but it is just that you always look so much the gentleman that I find it impossible to imagine such a scene as you describe."

"I must count myself flattered," he said with a small bow as the dance ended, but to her disappointment he did not sound at all perturbed by her assumed admiration.

She noticed Harry with the Season's latest Beauty and was somewhat put out. As much as Eleanor valued Harriet's friendship and considered that she would make Harry an admirable wife, she could not think that the timid Miss Webster would appear to advantage beside the golden beauty of Miss Charis Merriville.

"I do hope that I am not the cause of that frown," Mr Moretyne's voice broke into her thoughts.

Eleanor swallowed her explanation and managed to simper, "How can you say so, sir? I am sure that your presence could never cause any frown but a jealous one."

"My dear ma'am, do you really think so?" She had been hoping that her bold speech would accomplish her purpose, but instead of looking disgusted he seemed much struck. "I am happy to think that I have accounted for your apparent hostility during our early acquaintance."

"Do not be absurd!" she snapped, her schemes forgotten in outrage at the suggestion. "You will excuse me, sir, I am promised to Lord Wansbeck for the next waltz!"

As thought her words had conjured him up, her next partner appeared to claim her hand and spare her from whatever reply Mr Moretyne was going to make.


	3. Chapter 3

It took half an hour for her temper to settle enough to remember her plot, and another half an hour for her to decide her next move. Her latest partner was a meek, slender sprig of fashion, easily led around the floor, and she contrived to finish the dance close to where Mr Moretyne stood.

After sending her escort in search of refreshment, she assumed a pretty air of hesitancy and watched her quarry as though uncertain. Obedient to the invitation contained in that gaze, he moved toward her.

"I must apologise, sir, for my manner earlier. Indeed I do not know what came over me!"

His lips twitched up in a smile that looked friendly, but something disquieting lurked behind it. "It is all forgotten, Miss Thorne. You surely did not seek me out for such a small matter?"

"Oh, but I could not bear to end our delightful dance with any kind of unpleasantness. I fear that the unaccustomed air of town is to blame for my megrims—you must know that I have lived all my life in the country."

There could be only one gallant reply to this obvious hint, and Mr Moretyne obligingly made it. "In that case, I beg you will permit me the privilege of driving out in the fresh air with you. Shall we say, tomorrow?"

If she had indeed wished to engage his attention, she could have truthfully told him that she intended to join her brother to try the paces of his new pair, but since it was not her plan to attach him she had no hesitation in accepting his offer.

When she finally sought her bed in the early hours of the morning she was well satisfied with her night's work. Mr Moretyne was frivolous but no fool; he must realize how shamelessly she had angled for the invitation to go driving, and unless she was very much mistaken he was certain to be far more reserved on the morrow.

* * *

She was doomed to be very much mistaken. Mr Moretyne presented himself as early as was proper, seemingly all eagerness for the pleasure of her company, and so found her as friendly as she had ever been toward him.

He drove a sporting curricle behind a team of match-bays that brought a smile of approval to her lips. In spite of his reputation as a dandy, she could find no fault—in her cooler moods!—with his judgement of horseflesh.

"I fancy that is your brother ahead of us." Mr Moretyne nodded toward a phaeton and two entering the Park.

Eleanor unfurled her sunshade and balanced it coquettishly. "Yes, he is trying the paces of his new pair. I warned him that he gave more than they were worth, but he is very generous."

"Has he bought Fleetwood's chestnuts?"

"Yes, and they are not so bad, although they are not as light-mouthed as I would like. Not, I daresay, to compare with your own team." She directed a wide-eyed smile toward her companion and was pleased with the effect, as he held her eyes for several moments before looking away.

"Your brother seems to be enjoying his time on the town," he remarked.

"Oh yes! He has sense enough to keep out of bad company, and he doesn't find it necessary to become the rage, so I think that he will be content to settle at Thornedon after he has tasted what Society has to offer."

"And does Miss Thorne feel the same way?"

He passed a barouche with a skill that sparked her admiration, so it was not as difficult as she expected to gaze devotedly at him. "Why sir, I have met so many delightful persons, and been made so welcome, that I would be an ungrateful creature if I did not confess to a suspicion that I am a town-creature at heart."

"I am glad to hear it," he returned smilingly.

Miss Thorne was rather taken aback. He should have been murmuring polite but discouraging remarks, and withdrawing from the unmistakable evidence of a female with a _tendre'_ for him, but instead of complying with her expectations he seemed to take encouragement from her manner.

A wild suspicion that he might see through her masquerade flitted through her head and was rejected. She had spoken of it to no one but Harriet, and Miss Webster was hardly the type to spread the tale around town.

Eleanor consoled herself with the reflection that even though her scheme was not yet bearing fruit, she was enjoying the drive. She knew that his pursuit had its roots in pique, for no gentleman would overlook the insults she had flung at him on their first meeting, so it was a fortunate circumstance that she was not taken in by his air and address and was not likely to suffer the pangs of a broken heart when her plot succeeded in discouraging him.

She was jolted from her reverie by the realization that the curricle had come to a stop.

"My aunt is waving to me," he explained. "You will not mind if I stop just for a moment?"

"Pray do! I was presented to Lady Lansworth last week and found her delightful." Eleanor acknowledged bows from Mr Elliot and Mr Horace Epworth as she spoke.

"Ah Granville!" Lady Lansworth had a piercing voice that reminded Eleanor irresistibly of a blast from a yard of tin. "Who's the girl you've taken up this time? Miss Thorne, is it? Good choice, my boy, good choice!" The three purple-dyed ostrich feathers on her turban bobbed with each word.

"Good morning, Aunt Priscilla," Mr Moretyne replied lightly. "You are acquainted with Miss Thorne, I believe!"

"Of course! Think I don't keep track of your flirts?" her ladyship demanded. "Miss Thorne, is this scapegrace making himself agreeable to you?"

"I cannot suppose him capable of doing otherwise!" Eleanor rhapsodized.

"Doing so, you mean," Mr Moretyne prodded in an undervoice.

Miss Thorne found it necessary to clamp her lower lip firmly between her teeth, but the laughter that lit her eyes did not go unnoticed by Lady Lansworth.

"Well, Granville, see that you don't lose this one! She sets you off well, you know, and will do your precious stables credit if her seat is as good as her hands." Her ladyship prodded her coachman in the back with the handle of her cane, leaving both occupants of the curricle slack-jawed as she drove away.

"I thought you said you found her delightful?" Mr Moretyne set his horses in motion. "My poor girl, you must have been exposed to some extremely odd company to have formed such an opinion of my addlepated aunt!"

Eleanor abandoned her outrage to laugh. "She has no compunction about speaking her mind, I see. I must beg your pardon for having chosen a gown which clashes so dreadfully with the colour of your pair."

He skilfully looped a rein and passed another curricle. "The next time we drive out, I shall be certain to drive my greys, and then you may safely wear any colour without clashing."

She allowed his assumption to pass unchallenged. If he was not yet discouraged, she clearly needed to pursue him more obviously, and refusing to drive out with him would not accomplish her purpose.


	4. Chapter 4

Although Miss Thorne had looked forward to the evening at Almack's for the purpose of continuing her mission to promote a match between her brother and Miss Webster, she was forced to acknowledge that there had been some drawbacks to her plot for the discomfiture of Mr Moretyne. By the time she had been congratulated on her conquest by two sharp-eyed dowagers, endured the languishing sighs of a host of young men certain that they could not compete with the claims of so noted a bachelor, and been archly quizzed by three young ladies behind whose words of praise she had no difficulty in detecting bitter jealousy, she had almost decided that the scheme would cause more trouble than it was worth and that sufficient work had been done to allow her to forget the entire matter.

This opinion lasted for all of the opening set of dances, in which she laughed and chattered and frankly enjoyed herself in the company of unexceptional partners, and was in no way hindered by the fact that the subject of her schemes appeared to be absent.

When she settled into a chair beside Harriet, removing from her friend's uneasy presence the flatteries of Lord Wansbeck by dint of a steely gaze aimed in his direction, she was in a glowing mood, and not even the inanities of Mr Horace Epworth as he delivered her a glass of lemonade could dampen her spirits.

Harriet directed as reproachful a look at her friend as such a sweet-tempered young lady could muster. "Eleanor, have you not heard the rumours?"

"What rumours, my dear?" Miss Thorne inquired cheerfully. "Do you speak of the ones that say that I am setting my cap at an influential position in society, or the ones that claim that a certain gentleman is intent on increasing the size of his income?"

"How can you talk so lightly of it?" Harriet gasped.

Eleanor raised her brows. "I confess that my personal favourite is the rumour which thinks that I am trying to cajole the gentleman out of holding my brother to his gambling debts."

"But Harry—Mr Thorne does not play for high stakes!" Miss Webster's hasty correction did not go unnoticed by her friend.

"And when has the truth ever affected the spread of gossip?"

This was so unanswerable that Miss Webster subsided, however she revived when Mr Harry Thorne extracted himself from the attentions of a blushing damsel in a white gown which turned her skin crimson and crossed the room to where they sat.

"Harry dearest, you will not mind keeping Harriet entertained?" said his sister with comfortable certainty. "I promised this dance to Mr Standen, and I see him heading this way."

"Of course, pleasure to see you again, Miss Webster," Harry replied easily. "In fact—was hoping that I might have the pleasure of this dance. Ought to dance well together, you know—names are so similar."

Mr Standen claimed Eleanor's hand before she could hear the response to this remark, but judging by the pretty blush that coloured the lady's cheeks as she was led into the set at least one of Eleanor's schemes was bidding fair to become a success.

As the hands of the clock approached the time when the doors were firmly closed against latecomers, Miss Thorne expected that she was safe from the prospect of the materialization of the subject of her other scheme, but the hour lacked but five minutes to eleven when an impeccably-dressed figure strolled into the club. She noticed him immediately out of the corner of her eye, refusing to allow herself to be caught gazing in his direction, and contrived to appear oblivious to his arrival until he stood before her. Her only hope was that the impression was not spoilt by the gigglings and whisperings of the two girls with whom she had been exchanging pleasantries, as they demonstrated a marked tendency to openly admire the gentleman.

"Miss Thorne, may I request the pleasure of the next waltz?"

She was under no illusions about the significance of being the first lady spoken to upon his arrival, and was more certain than ever that his pursuit was not genuine in spite of the particularity that this action would indicate. She therefore accepted graciously, concealing her cynical amusement at the disappointment of her companions when he failed to gratify their hopes, and allowed him to lead her toward the floor.

Before beginning the dance, however, he stopped and indicated a nearby gentleman. "If you do not object, I should like the pleasure of introducing my cousin, Captain Lansworth, to you."

Occupied with her appearance of unconsciousness, she had failed to notice Mr Moretyne's companion when they entered. "I would be delighted to make his acquaintance," she agreed serenely.

The Captain was taller than his cousin, dressed in a coat that was excellently made but aspired to no heights of dandyism. Observing the two men, Eleanor would have been hard pressed to identify them as related without benefit of an introduction, the Captain being fair-haired, with laughing blue eyes, and a sunburned complexion. "Miss Thorne, may I present Captain Lord Frederick Lansworth, lately of the –th Cavalry?"

Eleanor offered a curtsey and a genuine smile as he bowed. "I believe that I have already had the pleasure of meeting your mother, sir. She told me that her son was in town on military business, but she did not say that we were to have the pleasure of your company."

"Well, I did not know it myself until tonight." The Captain directed a sly glance toward his cousin. "Moretyne here insisted that I would find more enjoyment in joining him than in spending an evening at home, so here I am."

"Have you sold out, then?" Miss Thorne inquired.

"I have. It seemed that with the cessation of hostilities, there were fellows much more in need of their rank than I, and I had a curiosity to see what life was like as a civilian."

She decided that she liked the merry twinkle in the Captain's eyes and his frank manner, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by her dance partner.

"My dear fellow, I thought you required an introduction, not a whole conversation. You are occupying a dance meant to be for two persons instead of three," Mr Moretyne drawled the words in his most quelling manner.

Captain Lansworth appeared unaffected. "In that case, Miss Thorne, would you do me the honour of the next waltz, and we may talk without interruption?"

"Certainly, Captain, if you feel yourself competent to deal with the inevitable challenge that will be levelled in your direction by certain gentlemen." Eleanor directed a significant gaze toward several hovering gentlemen of decidedly dandified appearance.

"Granville, you had better take her and dance!" The Captain clapped a hand to his heart as though wounded. "I am not certain that I will survive this conversation!"

Miss Thorne's laughter trailed behind her as Mr Moretyne swept her into the waltz.

He looked down at her with a curious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I perceive that you are wondering how he could be the son of my eccentric Aunt Priscilla, who has never been noted for her address or discretion."

In actuality she had been wondering how a gentleman as aggravating as Mr Moretyne could possess a cousin as pleasant as Captain Lansworth, but she was disinclined to minister to his vanity by revealing this. Instead she resorted to a coquettish smile. "You are quite mistaken, sir, I have been thinking how very fortunate it is that a dance as exhilarating as the waltz has made its way inside the hallowed halls of Almack's.

"Ah, but the waltz is only exhilarating when danced with such a delightful partner," he returned smoothly.


End file.
